Where vision meets post-crash black noir. The story of life after the world economic system crashes and American society begins the gradual slide into universal third world squalor and violence.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

The Contractor - Part 2e - by nova

I swallowed hard when he said that. I tried again, "Look Agent Johnson. There is a mix up here. I'm not ... I mean I didn't do this. I can..." He cut me off, telling me, "Save it. I don't care. Let me tell you what I have and then we can talk or I can have you transferred to Central Holding at MPD and you can be in front of the Magistrate in an hour." He grinned, it wasn't a warm one but he had good teeth, and he continued, "You can probably be in DC Jail in time for lights out and sleepy time." He paused to let me think about that, then added, "You had some cosmetics too, I suppose we could release the lotion..." He barked a laugh, I wasn't liking him very much at this point, especially after he added, "You'll need it for the first couple inmates." He thought this was really funny. I didn't. He stared at me when he was done laughing for a couple of seconds, then said in a warmer voice, "Or we can talk about how to make this all go away. It's up to you."

"Let's talk" I told him. I liked the "go away" part because I really really wanted all this to go away.

"Before we do that I want to make sure you understand the position you're in. We have your name on the credit card that rented the room. We have the drugs and the gun. We did a quick background check and says you failed a piss test for MDMA and were fired because of that at a previous employer. We also have a confidential informant who will testify that you were a known source of MDMA to the people currently taking up space in front of the National Theater," then he leaned forward and said, When I say I can make this go away I can but it will only be put on hold Mr. LaFarge. Do you understand me?"

I told him, "Shit. Fucking WalMart. I did that just to get laid. I was 17 then anyway. Wait a minute. What's this confidential informant stuff? I knew, at least I thought I did, what he meant. Damn this was so unfair!

"You can ask for a lawyer. He will explain it all to you and more than likely suggest you take a plea that I am also sure Justice will offer you. You may be out in seven years if you take responsibility and cooperate or you can tell me right now that you want to hear my deal."

"I thought I had." I told him.

"Mr. LaFarge I made that statement for the record. This is not a banana republic and we aren't thugs."

"That's reassuring." I told him. He looked at me like I was snarking. I wasn't. It was reassuring. Apparently he figured that out. He gave me a warm smile, and told me, "This is a good deal Dakota. We want you to set up shop and sell laptops and phones. Not only that but we'll pay you to do it and provide the merchandise. You'll be making twice what that temp job is paying and you can go home tonight." He sat back. He reminded me a lot of the guy who sold me my used Honda. It had been a good car and yeah, I paid for undercoating somehow and paint finishing, which was a rip off but it had worked out. Yeah, there had to be a catch here but I was okay with that. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

2 comments:

"like a contractor", to the tune of Madonna's "Like a Virgin", perhaps by "Weird Al".

An offer you can't refuse, and a job you can't quit. Slave, with a boulder hanging over your head.

Hell yeah, sell laptops and cell phones, if it keeps you out of jail. Support CIA operatives, as ordered to. Save your money for the day when you can disappear from the Fed control grid. It might be 10 years, but that's a better stint than behind bars.